That Day

Chapter I

Chapter I

"I'm tired of doing this, Wayne."

"What do you want me to do then? I've been trying to make things better between us for Simon with the new job but it's hard when I'm not getting that same effort in return."

"Blame this all on me as usual, right?"

"Well, it is your fault, isn't it?"

"Why do you always put all the blame on me? What about what you've done?"

"Don't turn this around on me. What I've done has nothing to do with this. Your the one running off with other men behind my back, coming home late at night, and expecting us to pretend that nothing happened at all. So now it's okay to lie and cheat?""

"Wayne, I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted more. And you know damn well I wasn't getting enough here. You're always off to work and I have to raise Simon alone. I was tired of waiting around for you, Wayne. You say I wasn't trying? I was trying all the time. I was trying each night you weren't there, each time you didn't pick up the phone... every single day! I tried every time Simon would look up at me and ask 'Where's Daddy?' So don't ever say I never gave enough effort. I got tired of waiting Wayne, and you never even thought about that."

"What do you mean?! I was home whenever I could! Do you know how bad I felt when I couldn't make it to dinner or I wasn't there at Simon's games? No, you don't even know. While you were out destroying this family, I was trying to provide for you guys and pray that you would understand and appreciate the hard work I put in! I'm tired of pretending with you, Sarah. If we keep pretending, what will that do for Simon?"

"Sometimes you have to pretend, Wayne."

"Was this all pretend then? Simon? And me? And us?"

A moment of silence passed by. The short few seconds feeling like hours.

As a kid, I cried often and threw tantrums, but as these tears strolled down my face, I was feeling real pain. Pain like nothing I've ever felt before. Pain like I was being torn apart. I think Mom and Dad felt the same way. I couldn't help but blame myself for this. It was my fault, wasn't it?

Mom walked out of the kitchen and returned with a stack of papers. Dad sighed.

"Do you even care anymore?" You could hear the shudder of pain and sadness in Dad's voice.

"Sign it." Mom handed him the pen. Dad flipped a couple of pages, signing each one. "Let's not pretend anymore, Wayne."

That was eight years ago. I can still remember that night. I'm fifteen now. I live with Dad, in a small house a few dozen homes away from the old one ever since Mom moved on with her new life and Ricardo Nelson.

After that night, Dad had quit his job and became a construction worker on weekdays and a cashier for a grocery store on the weekends since.

I used to see Mom frequently but after the custody adjustments had been set she left me and Dad completely. She remarried to a weird young guy name Ricardo and moved to Spain. I have no idea what happened to her since then. I didn't really care. The letters and emails stopped coming. I don't even know whether to call her my mom anymore.

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I've hated taking the bus to school since the divorce, mostly because we pass by our old house to get to school. I always have to look at the old, dark green shutters, that bright red door, the stainless steel grill...

Today was different though. When my bus passed by the house, I notice that there was a for sale sign shoved into the dirt in the front of it, right next to the driveway. I remember Dad saying he was going to sell the home, but not this quickly. Someone probably wanted to live there. To start a family there. To live their life there. Why couldn't I have my family back?